all that glitters is not gold
by caroandlyn
Summary: Vampire!Akakuro AU :: Kuroko dreams of his gruesome past, all while striving to live in the unforgiving present.
1. Part I

**A.N.** I started writing this in the summer of last year during creative writing camp, so the flow is all convoluted and all that other nasty stuff, with the additional bonus of being written in a "poetic" style. This is the first part of a vampire!Kuroko story, so please enjoy! (Not that there's much to enjoy, haha)

* * *

.

 _caroandlyn_

.

* * *

all that _glitters_

 **is not _gold_**

* * *

.

Part I

.

 _(Present)_

The thing is, Kuroko _remembers_. Flashes of red and flesh and gold taunt him in his dreams, screams of pain, pleasure, fear clawing out of his throat; he imagines a man standing in the distance, holding a finger to his lips, an all-knowing gaze and secretive smile flickering in the light, before he matches the phantom's face as his own.

* * *

"Kuroko," Kagami asks, shifting awkwardly on the couch while Aomine shouts something obscene in the other room. "You know you can talk to us—Aomine and me, I mean—anytime, right? That we'll be here for you?"

Kuroko nods slowly, drinking a mouthful of cold tea as an excuse to stay silent. The apartment is on the shabbier side, garish posters of 80's American punk rock bands and basketball not quite hiding the peeling flower-print wallpaper behind, but... comfortable. He thinks of his own luxury suite in upscale Tokyo, of empty walls and bare flooring, of sleek metal and thick glass entrapping him in spider-silk webs of loneliness.

"I know it's not really my place to tell you this," Kagami continues, oblivious, "but you need to take care of yourself more, idiot." He punches Kuroko gently on the shoulder, grinning. "You promised that you'd always be there for me _always_ , didn't you?"

"I don't think Kagami-kun should be telling me this," Kuroko says, staring at his quicksilver reflection in the last dregs of tea. "He was the one who got a bad cold in the middle of summer, after all."

( _And you have Aomine-kun if I'm gone_ , he doesn't say, and Kagami doesn't hear.)

"H- _hey_!" Kagami sputters, choking on his glass of apple juice. "I'd like to tell you, Mr. I-will-make-fun-of-my-pitiful-best-friend, that I was soaking wet and the temperature was fucking _freezing_ at night!" He waves his hands in emphasis, scowling, before realizing that his words weren't exactly helping his case. "Anyway, haven't you heard the expression that idiots can't catch colds?"

Kuroko gives a wan smile. "I thought the saying was only idiots catch summer colds? And is Kagami-kun implying that he is an idiot?"

"What, _no_!" Kagami makes a face, slumping onto a cushion in defeat and flinging an arm over his eyes. "Just... be careful, alright? Have you heard about the serial murders in Ginza yet? That's near where you live, right?"

Kuroko shrugs. "I'll be fine," he says, setting down his cup onto the table. "I've survived up to this point in life, I am certain I can protect myself."

"Augh, you know that's not what I meant at _all_ , Kuroko," Kagami says, huffing, burrowing his head in his hands. "Why are all my friends either major idiots or smartasses or both?"

"Birds of a feather flock together, the quote is," Kuroko says, and looks down at the empty cup below when Kagami hollers in comedic indignation.

* * *

Killing is too easy.

The woman screams, although slamming her head against the wall is enough to keep her quiet. Her blood is thin and bland, almost tasteless, but he drinks until his stomach is filled once more, until his hunger is satisfied.

He imagines her having a family waiting for her at home. Perhaps a husband newly home from work. Children playing with dolls, waiting for dinner that will never be served.

 _Bon appetit_.

* * *

Sometimes, he wonders.

There is a man who moves into the suite adjacent to his own. Kuroko catches occasional flashes of his new neighbor—painful yellow hair, golden eyes, pale skin and a pink, pink mouth—and imagines a celebrity, perhaps an actor, someone who gives coy rebukes to over-excited paparazzi and wakes up at six o'clock every morning to style his hair.

He is half-right.

"You are Kuroko-san, right?" the man says sheepishly at his doorstep, scratching his head. "I'm Kise Ryouta—" and then suddenly, it all comes to him, because how had he not recognized the face that monopolized almost every billboard and advertisement? "—your new neighbor, it's very nice to meet you and can I spend please spend the night at your suite?"

Kuroko blinks at his new revelation, and then, as he processes Kise's words, blinks again. "Pardon?"

Kise flushes a light pink, as if just realizing the hidden connotations in his words. "No, not like _that_ , I'm sorry if I caused any misunderstandings but I really need to get away from my suite because I think I have a stalker inside my room and I don't want to draw any attention by leaving or calling the police and causing a scandal but I _really need to get away so please,_ please, _please..._ "

"I understand," Kuroko says quickly, moving aside to let the older man in. "I have a spare futon inside."

Kise smiles brilliantly, brighter than the sun, pure joy unmarred by relief or caution. "Thanks, Kuroko-san! I knew you would understand." As he enters the apartment, Kuroko briefly wonders if the actor is faking, because _surely_ somebody with a stalker would not be so carefree, be more cautious.

No. He is overthinking again, just like how he imagines those narrowed golden eyes filled with betrayal and worry and that soft pink mouth parting and then _why why why_

—

 _"_ Kurokocchi? Is something wrong? Are you having a seizure? Do you need to lie down? Did I surprise you too much? I'm sorry _I_ _'m sorry I'm so so so_ so _sorry_..."

"Ah... I'm fine, Kise-san."

"..."

 _"Kurokocchi_?" Kuroko repeats, the name falling from his lips with the grace of a drowning swan. It sounds familiar, ringing on the edge of his memory, but he can not recall from where.

His guest blanches a pale, sickly white, leaning against a large glass panel that has the grand view of the southern Tokyo city. "It's... your nickname. I hope you don't mind," Kise says, and flutters long eyelashes that coat a good half-inch of his face when he blinks. "I'm sorry, Kurokocchi—Kuroko- _san—_ if you don't like it and think I'm being too familiar I can always—"

Kuroko shakes his head. "It's fine, Kise-san," he says, and wonders where the fear that suddenly bursts in his chest, enveloping his heart, comes from. "I don't mind very much. Would you like some tea?"

"Thanks," Kise grins, and scratches the back of his mop of blond hair sheepishly. "You haven't changed much since the last time we met, don't you know?"

"Pardon?"

"Oh, no, I was just talking to myself. Sorry if I worried you, Kurokocchi."

"Mmm." He heats the kettle over the stove, adding in tea leaves from some randomly grabbed box—oolong? jasmine? green? A pscket of powder follows, surreptiously added with a flick of the wrist. "How are you liking Tokyo, so far?"

Kise leans back on his chair, crossing his legs and flipping out a smartphone. "I was born in Kabukicho, so I'm a native, actually. But I definitely like it here better than Osaka or Kanagawa."

Kuroko freezes, taking in the meaning of Kise's words. It is not unusual for children of prostitutes to integrate themselves into society, to forget their foul roots, but to think beautiful, rich Kise as the son of a whore; Kise, who earns more money than all of Japan's millionaires combined; Kise, who stands in his penthouse because of an overzealous fan...

"Oh," is all he can manage to say.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, silent and gaping, while Kise texts furiously on his kitchen counter. The sound of the kettle hissing draws him out of his thoughts, and he hurriedly pulls out two teacups next to the stove, pouring himself a little bit to sample first. The tea is bland, and tastes vaguely of oolong. He dumps the entirety of it down his sink, choking up the rest.

He pours another cup for Kise, away from the man's view, before carefully placing it in front of his guest. "Thank you," Kise says, placing his phone on the countertop as he takes a sip. Kuroko glances curiously at it, frowning slightly at the cryptic message displayed on the digital screen: _I found him_.

* * *

The sleeping drug works, although the effects take a little later more time than he expects. When he is certain his guest is asleep, he leaves, disappearing into the shadows with the ease of having done so many, many times before.

He returns to the apartment, dripping of blood, precisely at the witching hour.

* * *

Kise leaves the apartment sometime around sunrise, leaving behind a neatly folded futon and short note of thanks on the marble kitchen countertops, and suddenly Kuroko feels very small again, alone. There is takeout in the fridge, yes, but the microwave has yet to be installed; he forces cold rice and seaweed down his throat and tries not to choke.

Kagami texts him sometime in the late morning, careless slang and wrong characters littering his message: _serial killer_ _atk 2 dead b careful_ _aomine says hi._ Kuroko shuts down his phone, frowning at the strong scent that seems to permeate the room, a thick fog of vaporous iron.

Instead, he grabs his wallet and calls for a cab, headed for Tsukiji.

Seirin Coffee and Tea is located on one of the seedier roads of the district, and Kuroko's driver is all too glad to receive his dues and leave. On an outside patio, an elderly man sips morosely at a crimson-tinged glass, staring at the streets with blank eyes.

"Good morning, Kuroko-kun," Riko smiles from the cafe counter, tinges of color dotting her cheeks, crimson red lipstick stretching outwards into the sky. "The usual, I take it?" She adjusts her black apron, folding it carefully over her shoulders, and heads into the depths of the kitchen, returning moments later with a small cup of thick red liquid. "It's on the house for today. You'll never guess what—Junpei-kun's an otou-san now!"

"Congratulations, Riko-san," Kuroko nods, taking a sip of his drink. The cafe is empty except for the two of them, and the silence is almost disconcerting.

Riko flushes, her smile widening. "It's going to be a girl, I just know it. Now, if only that blockheaded moron of a husband would realize that as well..."

" _I heard that_!" Hyuuga yells from inside the kitchen, and pokes his head out of the door that connects the kitchen and the counter, wielding a still-steaming frying pan, his glasses askew. "Don't listen to that stubborn witch, Kuroko. We're going to have a son."

"Daughter."

"Son."

" _Daughter_."

" _Son_."

" _Daughter_ ," Riko says, smiling aggravatedly and spilling half of her own cup of red liquid. "Kuroko-kun, do me a favor and pass me a few napkins, will you?"

"Ow, ow, _woman_ , _let_ _go of my ear_ ," Hyuuga yells, trying to escape his wife's iron hold. "I thought you were pregnant, not on steroids."

"You're not getting out of this hold until you admit that I'm right," Riko said, smiling innocently as she wipes away the mess. "Thank you, Kuroko-kun. Could you be a darling and throw these away as well?"

Kuroko picks up the sopping wet napkins gingerly, keeping it out of arm's reach. A light-headed feeling comes upon him as he does, his surroundings blending into a collective eternity that engulfs him in seas of white—he sees a hand above him, a single ombre eye peering through the darkness, a silent mouth moving into a frown.

 _(_ _Do you remember now, Tetsuya?_

 _(_

 _I hate them. I hate you. I hate everything._

) )

"Kuroko-kun!" Riko shouts, and suddenly he is back in the cafe, staring at the ceiling fan circle around lazily, the cold floor pressing against his back. The napkin lies in a crumpled heap beside him. "Kuroko-kun, snap out of it!" Her eyes are a deep brown, the color of soil and wood and rusting metal, and Kuroko despises them with a passion, more anything else he's ever known.

 _I hate you._

"Ah," Kuroko says simply, breathing hard as he peels himself upwards from the floor tiles. And then he smiles, because the only other option is to cry. "I'm sorry, Riko-san, Hyuuga-senpai. I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well right now."

"I can see that," Hyuuga rolls his eyes from behind his wife, grabbing Kuroko tightly around the arm. "And to think we were going to name you godfather, you idiot! Take better care of yourself, or you'll be dead before Shigehiro comes out of the womb, and then we'll have to resort to a _human_ to watch over our first son."

Kuroko tenses in the older man's hold. "...Shigehiro?"

"Our son's name," Hyuuga says proudly, adjusting his glasses. "After Riko's great-grandfather. He was some super vampire or something like that, I don't really care, but her mother's always going on about _Ogiwara-ojii-sama_ and how cool he was."

"Our _daughter_ 's name," Riko says, elbowing her husband in the chest, "is going to be Shige _ko_. I will not be the ignorant mother who names her first child after a _boy_!"

"And I refuse to be the imbecilic father who names his his eldest son after a _girl_!"

"Do you even know what imbecilic means, you moron?"

"I'd like to remind you I scored higher than you in the Japanese test we took back in the second year of high school!"

"That was only once, and by one point!"

"Kuroko, who do you think is right?" Hyuuga yells, grey eyes glinting a livid shade.

Kuroko stares at his hands, and imagines a boy called Hyuuga Shigehiro with messy brown hair and his mother's eyes, a leather ball in hand as he chases after a smaller boy with strange blue coloring and a fragile presence.

He thinks up a little black-haired girl by the name of Hyuuga Shigeko who still believes in _icky boy-germs_ and old wives' tales, talking non-stop to a group of other little girls with perfectly tied hair in color-coded ribbons.

"Riko-san's argument sounds more logical."

"Ha!"

"Kuroko, you traitor!"

Maybe, he didn't want to face reality.

* * *

"On the subject of traitors, that rogue vampire around Ginza's getting more and more audacious," Riko says later, this time in a more subdued tone, cradling her stomach. "Twenty humans dead already, all with their necks brutally ripped out. If the humans haven't already started suspecting us, it'd be a miracle. Junpei's even thinking about moving us to the Southern countryside to seek refuge with his relatives."

Kuroko takes a few more delicate sips of his drink. "Do you have any idea of who might have done it, Riko-san?"

Riko sighs, ruffling his hair. "I wish I did. Maybe it was that Akashi Seijurou and his little troupe. Nobody's heard from them in three hundred years, who knows? They've certainly got no reservations in massacring humans, much less their own kinsmen."

"Akashi had a lover, didn't he?"

"He was killed about the same time Akashi disappeared, I think. Good riddance."

"Riko-san," Kuroko says, and sets his cup down gingerly. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Riko laughs, a dismissive, bitter sound. "Did some human lover of yours die? Kuroko-kun, once someone dies, they don't come back to life."

* * *

 _U didnt answer aomine & i worried r u ok? 1 dead ma-b more_

Kuroko deletes the message once again, and stares at the ceiling.

He is still vaguely hungry.

* * *

His dreams are haunted with hair and eyes the shade of terracotta clay.

 _I hate everything._

He does not sleep that night.

.


	2. Part II

.

* * *

.

 _caroandlyn_

.

* * *

all that _glitters_

 **is not _gold_**

* * *

.

Part II

.

 _(Past)_

Ogiwara's hands are warm, so unlike Akashi's icy fingers or his own frigid skin. Kuroko craves the warmth, although he will never admit it—vampires are creatures of the night, grotesque monsters designed to provoke the terror of humans, and heat is something only the weak will want for.

"You look so serious," Ogiwara says, his face teasing, and Kuroko can only force a smile in return. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a walking corpse."

"Does Ogiwara-kun think so little of me?" Kuroko asks, tilting his head slightly, so that the bridge of his nose rests on the crook of the other boy's elbow. A few slow breaths, for show; for him, there is no use for breathing, because he sustains on human blood alone. "I'm hurt Ogiwara-kun would even think about comparing me to an undead."

"Hey, I didn't mean that seriously," Ogiwara snorts, and then releases a breathy laugh. "You're so pale it wouldn't matter anyways."

"And just because Ogiwara-kun's eyes are the same color as a witch's does not make him a demonic being," Kuroko says petulantly in response. He ignores his companion's muffled snort of laughter in favor of watching the fire flicker in front of him, dazzling sparks of gold sizzling into burnt ashes.

* * *

And the thing is, Ogiwara doesn't _know_. He looks at Kuroko with eyes filled with warmth and a teasing smile, and there is no accusing stare, no hardened frowns that whisper _demon_ with hatred, no wooden stakes or garlic rings or twisted determined intent to kill.

Kuroko prefers this ignorance, encourages it, even. He thinks of past friendships and broken bridges, of laughs that became screams and affection turned hatred.

Humans are such fearful, fragile creatures. And perhaps that is the key part of their appeal, why vampires are so attracted to them for sustenance. There is strength in their weakness, resilience in their cowardliness, beauty in their demise.

Ogiwara, certainly, is not weak. He hugs Kuroko with well-muscled arms that speak of years of handling a heavy weapon, and runs as if he has been running for his entire life, lugging with him a plateful of armor that's easily more than Kuroko's entire body weight. Sometimes he even will chase after wolves or panthers, bringing back pelts big enough to be fashioned into capes and enough meat to feed his family for weeks.

But when they lie together in the comfort of Ogiwara's tent, Ogiwara's thin neck exposed in the dim light of the fire, Kuroko thinks how easily he could snap it right then and there, how Akashi wouldn't even hesitate before his best friend was drained and dead and gone.

* * *

"There's a girl I like," Ogiwara confides to Kuroko one morning, his cheeks flushed a faint shade of cherry red in the morning chill, "I think you'll like her too, Kuroko."

Kuroko freezes, and then returns to reality. "I'm glad, Ogiwara-kun," he says, trying a strained smile. Ogiwara doesn't seem to notice, his eyes still glossed over with the vision of his sweetheart. "If someone like Ogiwara-kun can find a girlfriend, there is hope for all of us out there."

" _Hey_ ," Ogiwara laughs, lightly punching his shoulder. The touch stings, as painful as steel or holy water. "That's not very nice of you to do, hitting someone where they're weakest."

"But it's all true," Kuroko retorts, and they fall back into their old routine just like that. Ogiwara feigns affront a few more times, before they are both exhausted with the spiel and turn to other things.

"I already talked with her father yesterday, regarding the bride-price," Ogiwara admits, making a face at the mention of a dowry. "He likes me, though, so it isn't all that bad. I think I'll ask her to marry me soon."

"Introduce me to the girl sometime," Kuroko says, choking down something bitter that rises from his throat. "And if Ogiwara-kun does not invite me to the wedding, I will never forgive him."

"I will, definitely. You're going to be my best man, after all," Ogiwara says, putting a hand over Kuroko's shoulder. Kuroko wants to tear away from the touch, wants to run away and never look back. He stays still instead. "Obviously, that's only if this is fine with you."

And that's the thing that makes Kuroko so frustrated, how Ogiwara can be so kind and considerate and yet say those words so blatantly to his face.

"Of course," Kuroko says, lowering his head. If he were a weaker man, a mortal, perhaps he would have shed a few tears, but for him there is no excuse for not exercising restraint. "I look forward to it."

"That's great!" Ogiwara grins, enveloping him in a tight embrace. For once, the feel of the other boy is not warm, but chilly. "I'll tell you all the details later, after we arrange it. Thanks for being the best friend—no, _brother_ —in this world."

"Perhaps Ogiwara-kun should save his flattery for his wife," Kuroko says purposefully, and the sound of Ogiwara's laughter is almost enough to drown out his own despair.

* * *

"Where were you, Kurokocchi?" Kise asks later, childishly. He wraps his arms around Kuroko's neck, nuzzling his head against his shoulder. "I missed you so much!" And then, as if in afterthought, he adds, "Oh yeah, and Akashicchi was looking for you earlier."

Kise is cold, and the chill seems to seep in through Kuroko's clothes, wrapping him in a shroud of ice. Kuroko hurriedly burrows himself out of the younger boy's embrace, ignoring Kise's dramatic pouts at the rebuff; other things must take priority first, ahead of Kise's silly games.

"When was Akashi-kun looking for me?" Kuroko asks, peering around the surroundings. Perhaps, if it was only just earlier, Akashi would still be in the reaches of the encampment, and Kuroko's absence would only cause a few raised eyebrows at most.

"Oh, about midday or so, I think," Kise says, and Kuroko's heart sinks immediately. It is late afternoon now at the very least, if he were to be generous, and any chance of Kuroko's mysterious disappearances staying discreet is gone.

"Do you know where Akashi-kun is right now?" Kuroko asks, trying not to show his alarm. There are always excuses he can provide for his leaves: a midday snack, a craving for thrill, even a secret rendezvous with Momoi, who will surely back up his words (although for a price; she may harbor affections towards him, but nothing is ever free). Any of those options are more believable than what he has truly been up to, and Kuroko likes to think that they will be enough to convince Akashi.

But Akashi is intelligent. He will surely note the discrepancy in Kuroko's lies, the fear in Kuroko's eyes when he speaks. He will know that something is wrong, and stoop to all means to find the truth. If he looks hard enough, he will find out about Ogiwara and the daily meetings, and Ogiwara will surely be killed—and it will all be Kuroko's fault.

Kise doesn't seemed to note Kuroko's current emotional state. "Oh, I saw him with Midorimacchi in the woods just a while ago. You made him worried, you know. He went all over trying to find you—"

Kuroko doesn't bother listening to Kise finish. He is already speeding in the direction of the woods, because every second that passes is a second where Akashi becomes closer to finding the truth, and that is an outcome he can never allow to happen.

* * *

He arrives at his destination a few minutes later, slightly winded from the speed of travelling. The woods are as dark and unsettling as ever, thick vines creeping over trees and and hanging from branches, tall birch trees blocking out any trace of sunlight in the forest floor. Kuroko has lured at least a dozen hapless youth into their dooms here, discarding their bodies into its deepest depths afterwards. Their rotting flesh will fertilize a new generation of trees and animals, and their blood will supply himself with enough fuel to survive another day; in a morbidly ironic way, he trades a few lives for the livelihoods of many.

But he is not here today to sacrifice a human life, but to save one. With new determination, he makes his way through the vines, ignoring the unsettling feeling that he is being watched.

It is a fruitless search, at first. The woods cover a large expanse of swampy terrain, which makes it hard for him to travel at fast speeds, and he is already tired from his travel to here. He resorts to clambering over rotting logs and mud-covered rocks like a human, pausing every now and then to listen for any sign of sound, of Akashi.

A sudden rustling noise behind him startles him, and Kuroko whips around, only to be faced with the retreating figure of a bat. It flies away into the deep foliage, its dark color melting away as if it had never been there in the first place.

An icy cold hand grips around his mouth the next moment, cold fangs brushing against his neck. "It is not like you to be so careless like this, Tetsuya," a voice whispers silkily, and the fangs pierce into his skin.

Black ichor flows out of the laceration at once, and Akashi drinks it with gusto, lapping at the skin even when wound has fully healed. Kuroko stills, trembling but refusing to look at the man behind him.

"You're rather distracted today," Akashi commentates after he's had his fill, ghosting his fingers over Kuroko's chin and amusing himself with tendrils of stray hair. "One would almost think that you're... hiding something from me."

"Akashi-kun thinks too much," Kuroko says flatly. He forces an cold, irritated expression on his face, one practiced from years of dealing with Kise and Aomine and the like. "Release me this moment."

Akashi seems almost amused by his reaction, like Kuroko is nothing but a child play-acting, easily seen through by wiser men. He scrapes his fangs against the lobe of Kuroko's ear, sending sharp prickling sensations down his spine, but acquiesces to Kuroko's demand.

Kuroko tears himself from Akashi's grasp, staring accusingly at the other man. For a brief moment, he forgets about Ogiwara, too lost in crimson eyes and mocking smiles.

"Don't look at me like that," Akashi says, voice suave as ever as he crosses his arms. "Weren't you the one looking for me in the first place?"

Those words shake Kuroko jarringly back into reality, and he widens his eyes slightly before he can help himself. "Kise-kun mentioned that you were trying to find me," he says, finally, trying to find the right words to say. "I thought that I might save you the trouble."

Akashi laughs darkly. "So you _do_ care about me, after all, Tetsuya," he murmurs, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "But of course. We _are_ lovers, are we not?"

Somehow Kuroko's mind flashes back to Ogiwara's sunny smile and his warm hands, and then _this_ , Akashi's cold gaze and frigid fingers.

"Unless," Akashi continues, carefree, "there's someone else?"

Kuroko freezes.

 _—there's a girl I like, I think you'll like her too, Kuroko—_

"Ah," Akashi says, and there is a melancholy quality to his expression before it hardens into something else completely. "So my premonition was right."

He steps forward, and without meaning to, Kuroko steps backward in turn. Then suddenly his hand is on Kuroko's throat, squeezing tighter and tighter and _hurts it hurts stop no don't—_

"Who is it?" Akashi whispers, all while liberally applying more pressure to Kuroko's throat. "If you tell me now, perhaps I'll consider sparing his pathetic little life."

Kuroko closes his eyes tightly _(maybe if he keeps them closed for long enough he can pretend it's just a bad dream)_ and thinks of Ogiwara's laughter.

 _—I think I'll ask her to marry me—_

Akashi tires of the farce after a while, releasing his grip and allowing Kuroko to collapse onto the floor. "I did warn you," he says lightly. "It doesn't have to happen like this."

Kuroko pushes against the ground, standing up unsteadily so that he matches Akashi's gaze. He is not afraid of Akashi, only the potential consequences of angering him; but it is already too late _and does he really care?_

"Akashi-kun is too rash in his actions," Kuroko says slowly, watching as the bruises on his neck go from a mottled purple to a blotchier brown shade ( _like the color of Ogiwara's eyes,_ he thinks morbidly _)._ "There is no such lover." _Ogiwara will never look at him like that,_ he knows _, but why does it hurt so much?_ "Only you." The discoloration clears away, until only the pale white stretch of skin on his neck remains.

And in the end, that is still the bitter truth. Kuroko watches Akashi scan his face and see only open-faced honesty, and for some reason he tastes the burnt flavour of defeat on his tongue.

Akashi reaches his hand out, as impetious as ever, and draws Kuroko in for a violent kiss of teeth and tongue and blood. Akashi tastes like ash and dust, and he is all too eager to bite until Kuroko's mouth is red and raw.

"It seems I have misjudged you," Akashi says finally, wetting his lips after he has finished his violation of Kuroko's mouth. He dabs at Kuroko's chin with a slender finger, licking off the excess ichor with a satisfied expression. "You have yet to betray me, Tetsuya. My dearest apologies."

Kuroko wants to snap at him, throttle his throat and return the favor a hundred fold. His mind freezes, until all he can think of is Akashi's mocking smile and sharp eyes, and something like rage lurks dangerously in the depths of his mind.

"Leave," Kuroko says coldly, the lacerations in his mouth closing until there is only a mouthful of blood clouding his taste. He spits out the black liquid onto the floor, wiping away the remnants on his chin with an arm. "I don't wish to see your face anymore, Akashi-kun."

"Are you refusing me, Tetsuya?" Akashi asks, suddenly dangerous again. He grabs both of Kuroko's shoulders simultaneously, his fingers digging into flesh painfully. "Don't forget to whom you owe your life to."

"I told you to leave," Kuroko says again, and there is already too much pain in his life for him to care about Akashi's threats.

Akashi raises a hand, as if to strike him, but then stops himself abruptly. "Very well, then," he says, and he is gone too quickly for Kuroko to see the conflicting emotion on Akashi's face.

.


End file.
